


(Darling,) Save The Last Dance For Me

by dancingfornoreason



Series: Concerning Holmes': Tales of Mycroft, Sherlock and Q [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Action, But Q is gonna be really sexy, Cheesy Lines, Dancing, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Double Entendre, Has a plot, Innuendo, M/M, Music, No this isn't all about dancing, OCs - Freeform, Sexualy Frustrated Dancing, Smut, So is Bond, Song Inspired, Table Sex, Terrorists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingfornoreason/pseuds/dancingfornoreason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond has seen a lot of dancing in his time.<br/>The great agent had spun a great many voluptuous partners around the dance floor, once for pleasure, now almost exclusively for buisiness. As equally unimpressed by a classic waltz as he was the dirtiest grinding, he did what he had to in order to get the job done. He actually considered himself quite the artist, coaxing the darkest secrets of his target out through a series of carefully calculated touches. It's safe to say there isn't a move he hasn't seen. Nothing, not all the training M16 had to offer, could have prepared him for what he was about to witness.<br/>In which Q is devistatingly sexy without even being aware, Bond is Bond, and they are assigned on a mission which may or may not involve a jelous Q. Rated for smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught Red Handed

**Author's Note:**

> In case you hadn't guessed, the title as well as other things later to come (not giving that away!) is based off the song "Save the Last Dance For Me", originally recorded by the Duprees. Enjoy!

 James Bond has seen a lot of dancing in his time.

  The great agent had spun a great many voluptuous partners around the dance floor, once for pleasure, now almost exclusively for buisiness. As equally unimpressed by a classic waltz as he was the dirtiest grinding, he did what he had to in order to get the job done. He actually considered himself quite the artist, coaxing the darkest secrets of his target out through a series of carefully calculated touches. It's safe to say there isn't a move he hasn't seen. Yet nothing, not all the training M16 had to offer, could have prepared him for what he was about to witness.

    On the day in question, the double O was traveling through the high security areas of MI6 to fetch his Quatermaster. He was generally greatful for a chance to visit the quirky kid; Q's fondess for witty banter always left him both irritated and interested at the same time. Though he'd never admit it, he was even impressed by all of the clever gadgets and programs the man was constantly churning out. ...That's odd, Bond could have sworn he heard a faint thrum of music coming from Q Branch. After passing through the endless barrage of security measures, the double-oh entered, a snide comment on his lips, preparing to tell Q to keep it bloody down and - he stops.

     Right there, alone in the flesh and blood (and cardigan), was his quirky, clever, quick-minded Quartermaster. Dancing. At least, that's what James would have called it if he was being vague. The way the man was moving right now could only be described as pure silk, flowing and bobbing and apparently unaware that anyone was watching him work.

     And he was working, simultaneously tapping at one keyboard while swiveling his hips (in the most sensuous way, James noted), before turning and facing another screen. He looked so utterly lost in the work and the music; which Bond recognized somewhere in the back of his mind as an old jazz tune. The computer genius hummed along to the melody, his impossible, raven curls mirroring the movements of his body; _hell_ , his hips. James felt an involuntary pang of melancholy want at the sight of the then graceful young Q, no trace of his usual prim self, free of any inhibitions that may have been otherwise present. It was a wonder his glasses stayed on as that pink mouth parted, arms extended above him, head dipped back to expose a pale neck. James couldn't remember the last time a sight so plain as someone messing about turned him on so painfully. A small sound escaped his throat, which he quickly covered with a cough.

     Q stopped abruptly, jumping, eyes wide; clearly mortified by Bond's presence. Pink colour rushing to his cheeks, he straightened his glasses, clearing his throat.

"007."

Stunned though he was, Bond smirked at Q, who was so obviously attempting to remain professional. Now _that's_ the Q he knew. "What...er...why are you here?"

     "I work here," he said, amused, "and I _did_ come here to speak to my Quartermaster about details concerning an upcoming mission. But _now_ I'm starting to wonder if he's been replaced by a character from Flashdance."

Q looked to the side, still refusing to look Bond in the eye. It was startlingly endearing. "Erm...right. About that...I was just, er, listening to music while I was working and...got a bit carried away."

   James felt a sense of accomplishment at reducing the brillian chap to nothing but an embarrassed mess. Trying not to think too hard about the scene he had just witnessed, he quirked an eyebrow, keeping his exterior cool. "Oh? Well, I suppose I won't tell M that our best and brightest Quartermaster secretly spends his time dancing alone like a teenager."

    "Oi!" Q protested, sense of self returning. He dropped his voice, looking around, as if anyone could actually over hear. "It helps me think, alright?" Somehow, James knew he wouldn't tell this to just anyone. Those sharp eyes now rested on the double O; Q looking the picture of a school boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Chuckling, he threw up his hands. "Hey, it's not my buisiness. Though it might be if you continue to move like _that_."

He didn't miss the way Q's eyes widened at the implication, and then narrowed in mock contempt. Bond sighed dramatically. "Your secret is safe with me."

The corners of Q's mouth turned up a bit. This is what he found so fascinating about his Quartermaster; he was so quick, so clever, and occasionally entirely predictable.

"Now, come on, we have work to do. Apparently we're supposed to meet M for a briefing." He smirked at Q's confused expression. "It seems you and I have been assigned on a mission that will require you to do more than computer programming."


	2. Your Mission, If You Choose To Accept It

"Field work?"

  
Q was unsure whether he should be flattered or incredulous. It wasn't in the job description for a Quartermaster, and he was good at what he did.

  
Very good.

  
Which is why he almost felt insulted by the very idea of being sent to do the dirty work. The trigger pulling, or as Bond would have it, the _not_ trigger pulling.

  
Oh, yeah, and then there was the fact that his field partner would be James _Bond_.  
He shuddered at the memory of the...dance fiasco. If he was being honest with himself; an infinitely small part of him was glad Bond had walked in. And if he was given a large dose of truth serum, he might even admit that he was nursing a teeny tiny crush for the double-oh.

  
But he wasn't being honest with himself, and he most certainly wasn't under the influence of a truth serum. So all he felt now was the heat of embarrassment, still fresh in his pale cheeks.

  
"You're still blushing." Said 007, the smug git, as they navigated the corridors of MI6.

  
"And you still refuse to answer my question. What _sort_ of field work?" He had secretly hoped "field work" didn't just meant setting up a lap top in a place other than Q branch. But then again, he wasn't being honest with himself.  
By way of answer Bond stopped at the door they had reached, opened it, and motioned for Q to enter.

"I guess we're about to find out" he whispered, far to close to Q's neck. He shivered, all hopes that the blush had gone away destroyed.

  
"Ah, good." M sat behind a small desk. "007; Q. Sit down." Q took a seat, displaying no signs of the distress he was definitely feeling.

  
"I have an assignment that will require two agents to infiltrate an terrorist organiation known as the Black Swan."  
"Black Swan?Are they London based?"

  
"Yes, 007. You're job is simple: Get in, become trusted. Steal their plans for future attacks. Take out the leader."  
Q gulped. He assumed Bond would be performing the "taking out the leader" aspect of the mission.

  
"You'll leave tonight after you've received - " Shit, they're leaving tonight?

  
"Excuse me." Q cleared his throat, facing an irritated looking M.

  
"Yes, Q?"

  
Here we go. "Why, _exactly_ , did you choose me to complete this mission? I'm not a field operative, and we have plenty of qualified - mmph!"

  
Bond had kicked him under the desk; the ponce was looking at him now, pointedly. M smiled tightly before answering.  
"Surely 007 has informed you of that by now?" He shot a glance at Bond, who just looked away, feigning innocence. Q glared.

"No? Ah, pity. Well, given your extensive knowledge in the field of the dance, we figured you could -"

  
What? "Excuse me?!"

  
"The Black Swan have ties to a wealthy family that owns half the dance clubs in London. They're dramatic, with a flare for fantastic, and hosting a dance competition tonight at the club we know to house Black Swan members. Your job is simple: win the dance competition."

  
This wasn't adding up. "How did you know that I used to dance? Besides, any other agent would surely be capable of doing so."  
"Please, Q, did you think there was anything about your youth that we didn't look into? Besides, there are cameras in almost every room in this building." He was peeved; this was the one aspect of his life he had been able to keep private, just for himself. Apparently it was a useless effort, hiding anything for MI6.

"To answer your second question: after you and Bond complete phase 1 of the mission, your skills as a Quartermaster will be most needed." Right, of course. He knew that was coming. There was no use in arguing further, really. He might as well just give in, he was property of the British Government now. Glancing at Bond, who held his gaze and nodded, he said the words he would probably regret in 12 hours.

"Mission accepted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued. Next chapter...the mission! Also, dancing. And jelousy. And possibly jelous dancing. Thanks for reading!


	3. Across the Dance Floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok..this took me two cups of Earl Grey. Enjoy xD

Bond arrived at the Pas DeChat dance club feeling, for the first time, a bit skeptical.

Really, come off it, he was a highly trained MI6 agent...and he was about to enter a dance competition. It's not as though he hadn't had to waltz around abit to get information in the past, but this seemed to be a whole new level of ridiculousness. He checked his watch, glancing about the large space.

One thing M hadn't been kidding about; these people definitely had a flare for the dramatic. The place was decorated elegantly, reminiscent of an earlier time, perhaps the 20s. He scanned the equally flamboyantly dressed crowd for Q.

 Oh,  _Q_. The fact that he was so attracted to his Quartermaster might scare him. But he was a double-oh; nothing was supposed to scare him. 

The plan had been relatively simple, (compared to dodging trains, or komodo dragons. Or both); Q and Bond would enter seperately, so as not to draw attention to themselves. Because of the way the dance competition was set up, both would dance with a variety of partners throughout the evening, while the judges made their comments and notations. After a process of elimination, if all was right and well, Q and Bond would end up finalists, dancing with eachother for the final round. 

And James would be lying if he said that he wasn't looking forward to  _that_ one. 

After that they would move to the second phase of the mission. Q and Bond would be invited to a special room to recieve their award and meet with the owners of the competition; AKA the terrorists, share a meal or drink with them, and God knows what else. Q would casually set up cameras and other Q things around the room that was supposedly their headquarters, and Bond would do what Bond does best. 

He would shoot some people. 

Looking around at the other dancers, who were either standing around or warming up, he felt for the first time that perhaps winning this wouldn't be as easy as they thought. These guys were serious, and by the looks of it, also cut-throat attention snobs.  

He gave a start when he finally spotted Q walk in through the left entryway, all of his previous thoughts melting away.

Because the only thought going through his head right now was something like _Bloody Hell._

His Quartermaster looked the part, completely. So much so that he felt out of place in his classic suit, and James Bond _never_ felt improperly dressed. 

James' eyes went wide as he felt a sharp pang of want for the man standing in the entry way. Q was donned in a silky, cream-coloured shirt that exposed much of his chest and neck in an incredibly flattering manner. His trousers were black; they were flexible so that they moved with his body as he did, but tight in all of the right places. His entire outfit looked as though it was designed just for him, hugging and flowing just so, making him look like some sort of wanton fallen angel with a hidden agenda. Like "I know I look innocent, but just wait and see what I have planned for you."

He had to push down an urge to jump the man as Q ran a hand through those curls; they were even more tousled than usual, contributing to the whole wanton fallen angel look. Jesus, was that eyeliner? He stood, hip cocked, looking about with an air of grace that was perhaps slightly feminine. Not girly, just...Q.

It drove James insane, and he'd only been standing there for all of fourty-five seconds.

Q caught Bond's eye from where he was, the corners of his mouth turning up, knowingly.

"007." He heard in his ear, shivering. Q's voice always held a certain fascination for him, but hearing the crisp tone so close to him when the man was across the room, looking like he did...oh, this was going to be fun.

"You're staring." Q's voice was tainted with amusement...perhaps something else.

"Well, how can I not? You have to admit, Q, it's a bit of a change from the orange cardigans."

He didn't hear Q's response, because the judges announced that it was time to find a partner.

....................................................................................................................................................................................................

Q had no problem finding his first partner. She was shorter and less experienced than he, giving him the advantage. He felt his cares melt away, the anticipation flowing through his veins. 

He knew what he was doing.  

Or, at least, he thought he did. That was before he looked over at Bond, who was classically dressed in a way that was so _him_ , elegant; handsom. He felt a sharp flare of envy for the woman the double-oh was holding like it was the most natural thing in the world. She smiled up at him and Q almost lost it.

Seeming to have noticed Q's gaze, Bond smirked at him, sliding a hand over her hip, the bastard. The music started and as a response, he pulled his partner flush against him.

_Oh, he knew this song._

....................................................................................................................................................................................................

If Bond thought watching Q dance by himself was the most sensual thing in the world...

...He was proved wrong that night. 

Seeing the way Q moved with his partner seriously tested James' willpower. Q's body seemed to have been made precisely for this; he glided with his partner to the slightly latin beat with practised ease that was completely unrehearsed. It was as if Q was having a conversation with his partner, and his body was doing all of the talking for him. He actually made her look good, though he shone brighter than anyone on the floor.

He dipped her, looking up - straight at James - as he did so. His eyes were dark in a way he had to call predatory. 

A challenge? 

While Bond danced with his own partner, eyes on Q the whole time, he realised he knew the song playing over the loudspeaker. 

It was the song that Q was dancing to when he caught him earlier that day. 

_You can dance-every dance with the guy_  
 _Who gives you the eye,let him hold you tight_  
 _You can smile-every smile for the man_  
 _Who held your hand neath the pale moon light_

Oh, this was definitely a challenge. And who was James Bond not to accept?

Spreading his hand on his partner's back, he let the rhythm guide his movements. He lifted his partner, spinning as he suspended her in mid air. 

....................................................................................................................................................................................................

Bond lifted his partner, attracting the attention of several judges and audience members. 

Q wanted to strangle her. Or him. Or both. 

_Oh I know that the music's fine_  
 _Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun_

Instead, Q closed his eyes, letting the tension add to the heat of his movements. When he opened them, they danced with a fire that reflected what he was so fiercely feeling. No more Mr. Nice Guy

_Laugh and sing, but while we're apart_  
 _Don't give your heart to anyone_

The rhythm over taking him again, he lifted his partner's leg, running a hand down it as he dipped her. A passion to his moves now as he hooked her around his own waist, twilrling about just so. 

He looked Bond directly in the eye as he pulled her back up, sharply bringing her flush against him. 

....................................................................................................................................................................................................

_But don't forget who's takin' you home_  
 _And in whose arms you're gonna be_  
 _So darlin' save the last dance for me._

Q may have been holding his partner, but he was dancing with James. Toying with him. Playing him like a fiddle, the way his body curved around the melody.  _  
_

And Bond was playing him right back, responding with fluency to anything thrown his way. It was a bit like their conversations; quick, playful, fueled by a dash of heat.

The song ended and they bowed to their respective partners, Q looking at James, licking his lips. Bond raised an eyebrow. 

"I didn't know you could dance, 007." His voice slightly breathless.

"Indeed. It's part of the job description."

Q laughed. When he spoke, his voice was darker than before. "Well, we'll just have to see how you hold up against me, won't we?" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm teasing you. And no, I'm not sorry. But I promise next chapter Q and Bond will get their dance...and what a dance it will be. xD


	4. Sway With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The moment we have all been waiting for. A bit short, admittedly, but I hope you enjoy. I speant at least half an hour watching latin dance competitions to write it :)

The evening passed in a similar manner; the judges loved Q, as did the audience. James held his own as well, drawing several "Oos" and "Ahhs" from spectators. The heat between the two agents was so tangible as they danced with their partners, even the audience had seemed to pick up on their little game.

Finally, after the semi-final round, Bond strode over to where Q was leaning against a pillar, looking like the most debauched creature in existence. The little tease just cocked his head back, sweat glistening his skin. "Hello," he said, as if they'd never met before. 

"It appears you and I have made it to the final round." Bond informed him, as if he needed informing. 

"Oh, have we?" 

"Hmm." James was aware that his voice had dropped about two octaves. He motioned toward the floor, where the other couple had already taken their spot. "Care to join me?" 

Q raised his eyebrows, accepting Bond's hand with a smirk, allowing himself to be guided to the center. The judges announced the couples and the crowd cheered, as they waited for the band to strike a tune. Wrapping his arms around his neck, Q leaned up to whisper in Bond's ear. "You're leading." 

James shivered. Christ, this was going to be difficult. "And why is that?" He whispered close to Q's ear. 

"Because this is a rumba." 

"Oh?"

"Mm. One of the more...physical dances," Q practically purred, "And you do seem to have a way with me, Mr. Bond." 

With that, the music started. Q smiled devilishly, walking his hand up Bond's shoulder. James practically growled as they started to move; going right into a push and pull movement that was both slow and quick at the same time. 

Though he was supposedly leading, Q had the upper hand as he slid and turned and wrapped himself in a way that seemed calculated to leave James wanting more contact. The movements were filthy, but had an air of sophistication that set Q apart from any other partner he'd been with. He was moving his hips just so that he wasn't grinding on James, not quite; and that's what made it so maddening. 

Deciding that he needed to turn the tables, Bond gripped Q tighter, lifting him in a move that ended with Q dipped backward; back arched gorgeously, that neck on beautiful display. The audience whistled and Bond shivered as Q wrapped a leg around his waist, walking his hands up James' chest in a way that should be illegal.

Leg still around around him, Q dipped his head back on Bond's shoulder, mouth inches away from his neck as he breathed. "I seemed to have underestimated you." 

Bond spun them, running his hand up Q's chest as he did so. The crowd whistled again. 

"Did you now?" He growled into his ear.

Q made a bitten off sound; moving his hips against Bond's thigh -so very close to where he wanted him to be - and then twirled away. James almost audibly groaned, staring at Q with wide eyes. It took all of his training to prevent a very physical reaction from all of this. 

"Yes." His voice was soft, cheeks flushed. He batted his eyelashes when Bond twirled him again. Oh, now the flirt was being coy with him. "Never again, 007." 

They continued there battle for dominance until the song ended; Q wrapped in James' arms, mouth inches away from his. "You're hard." Q said, breathlessly. A statement, not a question. 

"Mm. So are you." Another statement.

"Quite right." Q's eyes seemed transfixed to James' lips. He inched closer and closer, breath coming quickly, centimeters apart - 

"We have announced the winners!" Came the announcement, as the judges walked over towards them. Q let his head fall back with a groan. 

"Damn." James breathed. 

One particularly snooty judge held both their hands up as the crowd cheered. They were given their trophies; shook hands with the appropriate people. Q gave James one last longing look as they were lead into the "winners room". He sighed.

"Come on, time to go kill some terrorists."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued! Sorry about the unresolved sexual tension. But just remember... it will be even sweeter when it comes.


	5. Teamwork

Q had a problem.

And it was really, quite visible.

He hadn't really been given much training in this kind of field work; so consequently, had no idea how to stifle public arousal.

After they had made their way to the dining room, he excused himself to go to the restroom. Bond smirked at him on his way out, the bastard.

When he left the room, a few guards nodded to him, then went back to guarding the door. He meekly smiled at them, hoping the flush on his face wasn't too obvious. Once in the bathroom, Q splashed his face with water, trying to focus on the task at hand. He wondered if the guards would notice -

*Oh*

*Oh, shit.*

How could he have been so stupid?

He activated his mic so quickly; he'd barely had time to process what he knew had happened.

"Bond."

No response.

"Bond!"

A grunt. "Kind of busy right now, Q." His response was barely audible. Damn, they already had him.

"007, you must listen to me. There are guards outside of the room, blocking off all the exits. You've been compromised."

"Really, Q?" Another grunt. "I hadn't noticed." Q smiled momentarily at his dry humour, even in a time such as this.

Q's fingers moved like lightening as he set up shop. Not the best place for an emergency Q branch, but it would have to do.

After securing the bathroom, he used his laptop to gain access to the dining room.

"I've got a visual."

There wasn't a response, but Q could hear and see everything that was going on in the room. They had Bond tied to a chair, gag and everything. He snapped a shot of the bloke standing in front of him; clearly the leader, he had the air of a pompous git who thought he was meant to be king.

"We know who you are, Mr. Bond."

Bond simply glared at the man.

"Did you really think you would go unnoticed? We even have your file." He waved it, looking like a cat who'd captured his favourite prey. "Now, you're going to tell us who else is here with you; and then he's going to help us gain access to any government building we ask for. Clear?"

Working frantically, Q navigated the web of codes and firewalls that would gain him access to the building's central wiring.

"Got it. Bond, be prepared for a diversion."  
....................................................................................................................

The man tore the gag away from Bond's mouth, who simply spit in his general direction. He had no time to deal with arrogant bastards other than himself. That earned him a slap. "Tell us who else is working with you."

The fire alarm started; water sprinklers scent rain down from the ceiling, and Bond took the opportunity to kick the man in front of him. Using the chair as a weapon, he took out the two guys on his right and left, freeing himself of his constraints. Using a gun he nicked from one of them, he shot the other two guards who had entered the room. Smirking down at the leader who was now kneeling beneath him; he spoke into is mic.

"Thanks for that, Q. Just what I needed."

No answer.

"Q?"

He kicked the man beneath him. His teeth were stained with blood as he smiled, perniciously. "Ah, you didn't think we wouldn't find your little friend, did you? Very convincing act you put on, it's too bad, we could have used you. Great dancers."

He'd had enough of this guy. He ended him with a clean shot straight to the head, before setting a bomb in the room.

He went straight for the restrooms. "Q? Q? Answer me, dammit. Have you been compromised?" He pushed the door open, a smile tugging on his lips at the sight he beheld.

Q was standing over two rather large men, breathing heavily, a cut across his cheek; other then that showing no signs that he had just taken down not one, but two people twice his size. He winced at the sight of them. One of the men had a pen sticking out of his throat.

"It seems I am the one who has underestimated you this time."

Q smiled, nodding at the men. When he spoke, he still sounded out of breath. "Clean cut to the jugular, always does the trick."

Shaking his head, he motioned for Q to follow him. "Alright, let's get out of here before the building blows up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...smut.


	6. Last Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! But here, hopefully this makes up for it. Thanks for reading :)

The following night, Q found himself working away in Q branch once again, things back to normal. He sighed. He supposed he realized this was how it was going to be; it was only one mission, after all. It's not as though he believed anything would change between him and Bond, he was an MI6 agent, and Q was his Quartermaster...but yet, he still found himself expecting something. What had taken place had definitely been left unfinished. 

Frustrated and unable to concentrate, he reached over to one of his many computer screens whilst continuing to type with his other hand, and turned up the music he had been listening too. Looking around to make certain his underlings had returned home, he closed his eyes, settling into the groove of a familiar pattern.  
..................................................................................................

After a long day of debriefings, Bond was finally free for the night. Something kept nagging at him to go down and see Q...but he thought better of it. He most likely wouldn't be in there, or would be too busy and kick him out. 

James paused, about to exit the final set of doors. The distant sound of a latin beat reached his ears. He smirked. 

He stealthily slid down the darkened hallways towards the sound. The music was *definitely* coming from Q branch.  
..........................................................................

Q was getting really into it, fueled by memories of his and Bond's previous engagements. He remembered those careful hands; strong shoulders guiding him with ease and precision.

He had completely abandoned his work now in favour of losing himself in the rhythm. He twirled, his breath hitching in surprise as a familiar fingertips closed around his waist; the distinctive scent of cologne surrounding him. 

He leaned his head back against one of those shoulders, not feeling the need to open his eyes. 

"007."  
....................................................................................

"Mm. Caught you." Bond licked his lips. He could feel Q swallow against him. He barely fought the impulse to lick a stripe up that neck.

"Shouldn't you be home?" 

"Shouldn't you working?" 

"Touche" A smile tugged at Q's lips as his eyes flitted open to meet Bond's. He could feel Q's breath coming quicker against his skin; Bond slowly lowering his lips to pale skin, as they swayed slowly to the music. 

"B-Bond?" 

"James" He growled. 

"*James,*" he said, tone more drawn out than usual. His name sounded fantastic on that tongue. "What, exactly, are you doing?" 

"Oh...I don't know," Bond murmured into Q's flesh, raising goose flesh."I thought perhaps we could finish our dance."

"Ngh..." He smirked at rendering the great Quartermaster speechless. Q's Adam's apple bobbed, sending a hot chill throughout Bond's body. He swiveled those wicked hips of his against the area just above James' groin. He growled. Q smiled innocently. 

Sliding his hand to rest on Q's inner thigh, he pressed his mouth directly against the younger mans' ear. "You're hard." He whispered, making the beautiful git shudder gorgeously. 

"Mm. So are you". 

And that was the last thing said for a while as Bond discovered that Q's tongue could dance as well as the rest of him. 

........................................................................................................

*James* Q whined; he couldn't think, his thought process stunted by a white hot simmer that crept up his entire body in the form of a blush. 

"Yes?" He bit his lip hard as Bond traveled down his neck, the stubble scratching at his skin only fueling his arousal. He felt hot, but his skin was reacting as if he were touched by ice. 

"We can't...*shit*...we can't do this here." But as the words left his mouth, he knew it was no use. He was done for. 

"And why is that?" 

"Er...we...don't have a bed?" Q said, pathetically. 

In response, Bond pressed himself against Q's lower half until he felt something hard and cool against his arse. 

"We have a desk." 

*Oh*, this man was going to be the death of him. He felt, for the first time, the double-oh's heat pressed hot and heavy against his own, and threw his head back, grinding his hips in a way most porn stars would aspire to.

This time it was James who was rendered speechless. He made a deep, throaty sound and pressed forward, entrapping Q's hips between the surface of the desk and Bond's erection. Q whimpered as he felt his length twitch. 

"Do have any idea..." James panted in between kisses, "how close to insanity you drove me last night?"

"Not the faintest clue," Q purred. 

"You knew exactly what you were doing." He groaned as Bond sucked at his lower lip, his length was throbbing in it's constraints. 

"James..please..." he whimpered, grinding against Bond harder to get some friction. 

"I would've done it, you know. I would've let you rut against me until you came, right there on the dance floor. God, you're gorgeous." Bond slid a hand down his trousers to palm at his length. Shit, he wasn't going to last long.

"Fuck..James..." he sat himself completely on to the desk, wrapping his legs around Bond to get more leverage. He moaned at the pleasure, burying his face in Bond's neck. 

"God..Q," he moaned, sliding both their trousers down, moaning as their cocks finally lined up. "Next time...I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he swallowed, "those hips of yours won't be able to move." 

With that, Q was done. He threw his head back, groaning as his come shot out of him, covering Bond's erection.

"Oh, hell...Q!" 

He felt Bond's breath hitch as he climaxed, spilling all over Q.  
................................................................................................

They both stared at each other with wide eyes; gasping for air. Bond was about to speak when they heard a noise over the intercom. 

"007. This is a red alert, we need you in briefing, immediately. Q, you'll need to be on alert as well. We've got a potential assisination plot in Argentina." 

Q smiled sadly at Bond, and something in him lurched in grief. This is how it was always going to be. He returned the gesture, cleaning themselves up as quickly as possible. 

"Lovely working with you, 007." Q said, a soft edge now to his usual buisiness-like clip. "Looks like duty calls once more." 

....................................................................................................

Later, when Bond was busy shmoozing some girl in Argentina in order to get information, he couldn't help but think of his Quartermaster when he guided her to the dance floor. He felt a pang of something he couldn't quite identify. 

"James" He startled at the use of his first name, and at the voice he knew was way on the other side of the world, whispering into a mic.

"In our line of work, I know it's impossible to ever ask exclusivity of you." Q whispered, frankly. It was one of the few times he'd ever sounded truly vulnerable. Q hardly ever whispered anything other than strict directions when he was on a mission. "But, if you're keen..all I ask is that you save the last dance for me." 

James smiled, letting a soft melody carry him. Q had shown him that, perhaps, dancing wasn't so bad after all.

"Always."

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued!  
> So, this is my first published fanfiction. Thanks for reading, any feedback you have is most very welcome. Next chapter Q and Bond get introduced to their mission, so stay tuned!


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